


Nothing to prove

by SnubbingApollo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian is sick, Krem is not amused, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubbingApollo/pseuds/SnubbingApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian aches everywhere. He’s trudging through knee deep snow, cold, miserable, and he <i>aches</i>. <i>Everywhere</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to prove

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr for rainbowhouseplant [here](http://snubbingapollo.tumblr.com/post/114420672823/ive-no-idea-if-youre-still-taking-prompts-at)

Dorian aches everywhere. He’s trudging through knee deep snow, cold, miserable, and he _aches_. _Everywhere_. When Evelyn had come to ask him on this trip, with that same apologetic look she gets on her face whenever she asks him to go to Emprise Du Lion or the Mire or some other dreadful climate in the arse end of Thedas not fit for human habitation, it had been nothing but a slight tickle in the back of his throat. He’d been certain he would fight it off before they even made it to their destination but he’d only gotten worse. And now he was stuck.

What was he going to do after all? Stroll up to his friend and tell her that while he knew this was important life-saving work they would have to call whole thing off because Dorian had the sniffles? No. He was fine. In a few hours it would be dark and they’d make camp for the night and Dorian could curl up miserably in his bed role and whine in his solitude to his heart’s content. For now he would simply have to muddle through.

Dorian stares resolutely at his feet as, once again, the Inquisitor leads them up over a ridiculously steep incline instead of simply having the good sense to go around it as the Maker clearly intended. It’s becoming more difficult to walk in a straight line. He probably looks drunk, he thinks foggily as he struggles to look at least slightly sure footed. The last thing he needs is for the Bull or Varric to try to engage him in banter about his love for wine. Dorian would definitely not be up to his usual standard of verbal combat.

The mage carefully puts his foot down in front of him but as soon as he puts his weight on it a large chunk of loose snow slides down the embankment taking his foot with it. He flails gracelessly for a moment before landing face first in the cold wet slush. There is no mercy in the world.

He thinks for a moment about struggling to get up but finally resolves to just stay exactly where he is. The snow is ice cold on his face and for once that’s actually a relief. His skin feels like it’s on fire. He hears a cry of alarm from the group in front of him and groans unhappily into the snow. He’ll never hear the end of this. Fragile pampered Magister collapsing from a head cold. Bull will be mocking him about his delicate constitution for weeks. To say nothing of Krem’s inevitable comments when the man returns to their camp tonight and hears the tale. Dorian’s only saving grace is that his lover is scouting ahead and not actually here to see this. The illness would be no problem he’d have died instantly from embarrassment.

“Dorian? Are you alright?” Evelyn asks worriedly as she crouches next to him in the snow. Dorian’s answer is hopelessly muffled by the cold white affront to god and man his face is still currently buried in. Possibly he should do something about that. _Fuck_ he aches. With a great force of effort he starts to pull himself up out of the snow struggling to his unsteady feet.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, and his voice comes out hoarse and weak sounding. He clears his throat but it doesn’t help. “I just have a little cold, that’s all.” He meets Evelyn’s gaze and smiles a little, hoping to dispel her alarm. Her brow just furrows and she reaches out, putting her hand on his forehead.

“Shit, Dorian you’re burning up,” she says. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s not that bad,” Dorian tells her but he’s not sure how convincing that could be when he’s leaning all his weight on her with his head resting on her shoulder. When did that happen?

“Bull go find Krem and Sera. We’ll camp at the top of this ridge.”

The next thing Dorian knows his arm’s been slung over Evelyn’s shoulder and he’s being half walked half carried up the rest of the incline. Distantly he hears the Bull go on ahead muttering under his breath about stubborn 'Vints.

Dorian sits uselessly in the camp as Evelyn and Varric set up his tent. He’d tried to help them but the dwarf had rolled his eyes and pushed back into a sitting position.

“You just sit there and look miserable, Sparkler. We’ve got this.”

By the time they’ve got it put together and lead Dorian in the mage is a picture of dejection. He hasn’t been this humiliated since the time his father walked in on him sucking off Magister Tiberius’ son. This was exactly what he didn’t want, the entire group coming to an early halt because he couldn’t manage himself. He feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and makes a miserable noise. He always gets so disgustingly emotional when he has a fever. He only hopes they’ll leave soon so he can wallow in his misery in private.

He’s just finished being tucked into bed by his best friend who will never take him seriously again when the tent flap opens and Krem storms in.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” The warrior asks angrily. Dorian winces and looks away. He’s angry, fuck that’s even worse than mockery.

“I’ll just… go,” Evelyn says awkwardly as she backs out of the room. Neither man pays her any attention.

“I’m sorry, Amatus,” Dorian says dejectedly. Krem makes a frustrated noise before sitting next to his bed roll.

“What were you thinking?” he asks. He presses a hand to Dorian's face and sucks in a breath when he feels the heat all but pouring off the mage’s skin. “Have you eaten anything yet? Are you cold?” Dorian shakes his head no to both questions. He is cold, he’s all but shivering under his blankets, but the last thing he needs is another person feeling like they need to coddle him.

“Liar,” Krem mutters, moving to gather his own blankets and spreading them over Dorian.

“Sorry,” Dorian says again, miserably.

“Ugh, I’m not mad at you, you idiot,” Krem mutters back. Dorian arches a brow at him. “Alright maybe a little, but not for you being sick. You should have said something sooner. I was worried about you.”

“It’s just a cold,” Dorian protests.

“A cold with a fever so bad you collapsed in the snow. And this weather sure isn’t helping, I bet.” Krem lifts the blankets as he speaks crawling under them to lie next to Dorian. The mage immediately presses close to him resting his head on Krem’s chest. Krem sighs and runs his fingers through Dorian’s hair. His hand his so cool and his chest is so warm. Dorian feels himself start to drift off.

“Don’t do this again, Carissimus. You have to take better care of yourself.”

Dorian nods absently. For a moment there’s only silence and then Krem snorts and breathes a soft chuckle.

“I can’t believe you swooned face first into the snow.”

“Ah,” Dorian mutters. “There it is. I was wondering when the mocking would start.”

“Hey,” Krem says softly. He shifts a little so he can look down at his lover. “You’ve got nothing to prove to me, Dorian. You know that right? I don’t mean it like that.”

Dorian presses closer to him.

“Yes, I know.” And he does really. It’s just sometimes hard to remember at times like this. Hard not to expect his friends to act in ways more familiar to him than this gentle care giving. After another moment of quiet Dorian speaks again.

“It was a very graceful swoon,” he says. Krem laughs.

“Like a swan I’m sure,” he jokes. “Get some rest, idiot.” Dorian hums tiredly.

“Love you.”

Krem stills for a moment before taking his stroking back up.

“I love you too, Amatus,” he says kissing Dorian’s forehead gently. “But you’re still an idiot.”

Dorian falls asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
